Philosophically this is quite a big decision. As soon as the show returned, the old website, which had been thriving during the wilderness years, was rather shunted off and generally forgotten about, findable through a single link hidden on an inner page of via Google. Bits of it still are. You can't find this page if you're just wandering about. With each successive new series there's been redesign on redesign, layers upon layers, but now they're embracing the new BBC website format and filling in the gaps.

There's something bracing about clicking on the episode tag now and having Season 17 sitting there. You can also look at the episodes by date. I've now realised that the first episode broadcast after my birth was Robot which means I wasn't alive before Tom Baker played the character (and at least existing as a foetus during his regeneration scene) and that my first Who memory of a scene in The Invisible Enemy was as early as 1977. I don't remember much else about back then.

There are a few things missing. Omnibus editions, like the Christmas 1974 repeat of Planet of the Spiders and June 2007 broadcast of The Infinite Quest aren't there. The special 1991 broadcast of the pilot episode during The Lime Grove Story, a day long festival of programmes marking the closure of the studio, hasn't been thrown in. Dimensions in Time too, though that can be explained by it having been broadcast as part of Children in Need and Noel's House Party. And that it's Dimensions in Time.

Audio Nu-Who. Nu-Humans. One of the most evocative speeches in the Ninth Doctor era is from The End of the World when Cassandra is attempting to gloss her status as the last human given that there still seems to be other homo-sapiens tottering about. “I am the last pure human. The others mingled.” She says. “Oh, they call themselves Nu-humans and Proto-humans and Digi-humans, even 'Humanish, but you know what I call them? Mongrels.” It always seemed to be a set up for some future story in which we’d meet examples of these human offshoots but even in the direct sequels (New Earth, Gridlock), the bipeds in hospital and stuck in traffic are as recognisable as the show’s own production team. Except perhaps for the vestal virgins.

Now, finally we have a chance to meet the Nu-Humans in Cavan Scott and Mark Wright’s The Nu-Humans. Amy and her boys visit a moment in human history when terraforming is out of favour because it can’t quite deal with all planetary conditions. On CRHX-756J, commonly known as Hope Eternal, heavy gravity and volcanoes make it entirely inhospitable but its huge mineral deposits make it entirely attractive to speculators. Rather than modify the land, the people are transformed, their DNA rewritten to accommodate longer arms and a thick, scaly exoskeleton. Rory’s alarmed, especially as they still have recognisably British names like Trevor and Claudia and generally go about their business like regular humans.

All of which is relatively interesting. Except, unfortunately, Scott and Wright haven’t been able to apply it to a relatively interesting story which is quite surprising considering their sterling work elsewhere at Big Finish and in the Obverse. The TARDIS lands, finds a deceased example of a Nu-Human, are captured by the locals and accused of murder, locked up and we’ve reached as much of the plot as is included in the inlay synopsis but there isn’t much else. In a standard old Who four episode structure, this would be episode one. But there isn’t an episode two. It’s a base under siege adventure without the siege. After a surprise story point, we’re waiting for the extra twist. It doesn’t happen. Shame.

But there are still loads of positives. This is another magnificent reading from Raquel Cassidy (cf, The Art of Death), who once again offers pitch perfect vocal renderings of the Doctor and especially Amy, her uncanny impression of Karen Gillan suggesting at times the Scottish actress is reading in herself. That’s aided by a near-forensic understanding of the regulars and it’s their rapport which keeps us listening. There’s even a development of the Doctor/companion relationship as the Doctor simultaneously admonishes Rory for asking silly questions while simultaneously utilising Rory’s ability to ask silly questions so that he doesn’t have to. Nu-Who, Nu-Humans, new way of looking at the TARDIS’s crew.

Shakespeare In the early noughties, television producer and writer Daisy Goodwin presentedEssential Poems (To Fall in Love With), a series of programmes to coincide with Valentine's Day in which various verses were presented in the form of mini-dramas with a true galaxy of stars (from Christopher Lee to Julie Delpy with Amanda Holden between) characterising them within a cityscape. Shakespeare’s two contributions were Sonnet 129, in which Greg Wise sighed his way through “the expense of spirit in a waste of shame” slumped on a couch and the outcast state of Sonnet 29 becoming Matthew Macfadyen’s musician’s inability to get solid work from a demo he’s passing around.

Framed by Goodwin popping up in some biographical locations sometimes with family members, the idea was to make the poems accessible to audience brought up on television who might find their existence on the page somewhat intimidating. While it was entertaining in its own way, the obvious set back was that the scenes were often at odds with the poet's original meaning and the readers and actors themselves had various levels of comfort in relation to how they should be speaking the words, contemporary poetry fairing better than most. The best interpretations were undoubtedly when the actor simply broke the forth wall and addressed the viewer forcing us to interpret the words ourselves.

Shorn of gimmickry, an intimacy is created between actors and viewer which replicates the brief moments in televised plays when a soliloquy has to be addressed to camera. Some performers have a more actorly approach than others, with the younger players often favouring a straight reading over Fiona Shaw or Noma Dumezweni's attempts at providing an emotional context. RSC director John Barton classically utilised sonnets as exercises to help structure the text within performance and it’s certainly the case that actors who’ve been through Stratford provide the clearest readings. But some of the non-professionals are equally impressive, James Shapiro’s Sonnet 138 underpinned by an academic understanding.

Each of the readings is relatively fascinating in and of itself. They beed filmed in a variety of places, in contributors homes and offices, back and on stage at theatres. I imagine director John Wyver and his crew travelling the length and breadth of the country dropping in on the actors depending on their availability and it’d be interesting to know how they were selected. In the main they’re perfectly chosen, some having even appeared in similar sonnet related projects on audio, David Tennant for Naxos’s From Shakespeare With Love (in which he also read “Shall I compare thee …”), Sian Phillips and Fiona Shaw on EMI’s When Love Speaks (different choices).

Apart from added interactivity, about the only element unavailable are the additional interviews with experts and given the dvd is more expensive than the app, it’s a shame room couldn’t have been found for those here. That’s not the only niggle. Each of the actors is given their own biography screen which also lists the sonnets their reading, but there’s no play all for these and after watching one of them the viewer’s kicked back to a list of actors rather than the screen they were working from which means they have to go off and find the actor again to see another of their contributions. There’s a similar problem with the numerical list too, which makes the process of wanting to see a sonnet again quickly less efficient. A subtitle option would have been a useful addition.

Otherwise, the presentation is clear and nicely replicates the design of the app judging by screenshots in the accompany booklet (which also includes the actor profiles from the dvd itself). Once you’re used to navigating the menus there’s a definitely an addictive quality to it, wanting to watch one more sonnet, or the same sonnet again. If nothing else, it’s a way of exploring the less well known poems, most of which are generally ignored the face of the mighty 116, 18, 2 and indeed Goodwin’s choices 129 and 29. Few writers can say that 103, read beautifully here by Kim Cattrall, doesn’t capture the desperation of facing something with near flawless qualities and being infected with an inability to write about it.

In the early noughties, television producer and writer Daisy Goodwin presentedEssential Poems (To Fall in Love With), a series of programmes to coincide with Valentine's Day in which various verses were presented in the form of mini-dramas with a true galaxy of stars (from Christopher Lee to Julie Delpy with Amanda Holden between) characterising them within a cityscape. Shakespeare’s two contributions were Sonnet 129, in which Greg Wise sighed his way through “the expense of spirit in a waste of shame” slumped on a couch and the outcast state of Sonnet 29 becoming Matthew Macfadyen’s musician’s inability to get solid work from a demo he’s passing around.

Framed by Goodwin popping up in some biographical locations sometimes with family members, the idea was to make the poems accessible to audience brought up on television who might find their existence on the page somewhat intimidating. While it was entertaining in its own way, the obvious set back was that the scenes were often at odds with the poet's original meaning and the readers and actors themselves had various levels of comfort in relation to how they should be speaking the words, contemporary poetry fairing better than most. The best interpretations were undoubtedly when the actor simply broke the forth wall and addressed the viewer forcing us to interpret the words ourselves.

Shorn of gimmickry, an intimacy is created between actors and viewer which replicates the brief moments in televised plays when a soliloquy has to be addressed to camera. Some performers have a more actorly approach than others, with the younger players often favouring a straight reading over Fiona Shaw or Noma Dumezweni's attempts at providing an emotional context. RSC director John Barton classically utilised sonnets as exercises to help structure the text within performance and it’s certainly the case that actors who’ve been through Stratford provide the clearest readings. But some of the non-professionals are equally impressive, James Shapiro’s Sonnet 138 underpinned by an academic understanding.

Each of the readings is relatively fascinating in and of itself. They beed filmed in a variety of places, in contributors homes and offices, back and on stage at theatres. I imagine director John Wyver and his crew travelling the length and breadth of the country dropping in on the actors depending on their availability and it’d be interesting to know how they were selected. In the main they’re perfectly chosen, some having even appeared in similar sonnet related projects on audio, David Tennant for Naxos’s From Shakespeare With Love (in which he also read “Shall I compare thee …”), Sian Phillips and Fiona Shaw on EMI’s When Love Speaks (different choices).

Apart from added interactivity, about the only element unavailable are the additional interviews with experts and given the dvd is more expensive than the app, it’s a shame room couldn’t have been found for those here. That’s not the only niggle. Each of the actors is given their own biography screen which also lists the sonnets their reading, but there’s no play all for these and after watching one of them the viewer’s kicked back to a list of actors rather than the screen they were working from which means they have to go off and find the actor again to see another of their contributions. There’s a similar problem with the numerical list too, which makes the process of wanting to see a sonnet again quickly less efficient. A subtitle option would have been a useful addition.

Otherwise, the presentation is clear and nicely replicates the design of the app judging by screenshots in the accompany booklet (which also includes the actor profiles from the dvd itself). Once you’re used to navigating the menus there’s a definitely an addictive quality to it, wanting to watch one more sonnet, or the same sonnet again. If nothing else, it’s a way of exploring the less well known poems, most of which are generally ignored the face of the mighty 116, 18, 2 and indeed Goodwin’s choices 129 and 29. Few writers can say that 103, read beautifully here by Kim Cattrall, doesn’t capture the desperation of facing something with near flawless qualities and being infected with an inability to write about it.

Audio Vikings. If there’s one great untapped human sub-culture in Who history, it’s Vikings, as though since The Time Meddler somewhat covered their contemporary history and The Curse of Fenric somewhat their legacy, they’ve been thought best left alone which is a fifty year long mistake because who doesn’t love Vikings? Well, the peoples they marauded and pillaged of course but as the underrated versus astronauts film Outlander (featuring Sophia Myles) demonstrated there’s long boats full of mileage in showing these relatively primitive beard growers in an exciting adventure with aliens. Add to the list J.T. (Jenny) Colgan’s Dark Horizons.

As the author herself described to this very blog, Colgan’s approaches Vikings through the mystery of the Lewis Chess men, who created them and their purpose. The Doctor bumps into these beautifully carved objects whilst travelling alone and searching for someone to have a game with. He pitches up in primitive Scotland in the middle of a Viking attack, which is quickly overcome with flames, a St Elmos Fire which almost destroys both attackers and attackees, generated by an alien force that typically the Time Lord finds utterly beautiful but can’t be reasoned with (not unlike some of his companions).

In other words, it’s a kind of celebrity historical with an important artefact in place of Alexander Graham Bell or some such, though the chess set really is more of a jumping of point. The real interest is in Freydis, a kidnapped princess and one of the islanders, her captor Henrik, who’re the Doctor’s temporary companions, providing an analogue of Amy and Rory’s rapport, she with the acerbic temper, he the streak of nobility. As they inevitably stumble into the Doctor’s technology, their mixture of boggled-eyed wonder and matter of fact appreciation provide some of the novel's funniest moments and their ensuing romance some of the most touching.

None of which really captures just how marvellous Dark Horizons is. If you’d told me this was the work of a veteran Who spin-off writer I would have believed you. But as the first attempt, it shows none of the jitters of some other A-list writers working the franchise and can slot comfortably in with some of the classics of the form. I should temper that by adding that it doesn’t reinvent the wheel, no epochs have been damaged in writing of this novel. But as an example of a spin-off work, it’s perfectly pitched, atmospherically described and has an understanding of the central character which even some of those veterans can often lack.

Tonally, the novel's slap bang right in the middle of the intended demographic of the new television series. There are deaths, which shouldn’t be too much of a spoiler, but they’re supernatural in origin and the creepiness is strictly in the teen horror category. When the Vikings do maraud, it's generally played for laughs; some darker themes do intrude, but they’re utilised educationally to demonstrate masculine dominance in this society, how the princess under normal circumstances isn’t allowed to decide on the pattern of her own life, sacrificed to make way for peace treaties between warring factions.

But this isn’t a history lesson. There’s real poetry hidden within these pages as Colgan captures these isolated specks of humanity in a world which is yet to be infested by too much civilisation, the harsh landscape itself a constant source of mild peril. In her interview, Colgan described how one of the challenges was dealing with meals and bed times, but they’re often the most involving, peoples gathered together considering their past and their fate, new alliances and old enemies made over dinner in the moon and torch light, with the Doctor in the midst of it all, thinking of his next move whilst simultaneous enjoying their company.

Indeed, it’s Colgan’s interpretation of the eleventh Doctor which deserves the most applause. Even in these later years, with Matt Smith’s magical portrayal, too often in these spin-off works he can still be a rather generic Time Lord or just sometimes the wrong Time Lord with authors imaginations still holding on to David Tennant’s manic energy and long constants. From his first scene, it's impossible not to think of Smith wearily glancing over his chessboard starved of company. Judging by the length of his hair on the cover and various hints we have to assume this is the older Doctor from late in the last series, his age weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Like Steven Moffat, Colgan’s also interested in the Doctor status as a mythical entity. Freydis identifies him with the norse god Loki, a trickster. The Doctor explains often and at length that he isn’t a god, and almost goes out of his way to prove it, as his magical cabinet fails him and his magic wand rarely works for the benefit of those he’s chosen to protect. Yet he still has god-like qualities, not least a moral need to be fair to all species, or at least give them a chance to do the right thing, a code which stretches from the settlers to the Vikings and the aliens. As usual he’s disappointed, but this quandary which adds some unexpected thematic depth to the novel.

One can only imagine what Smith would have done with the scenes in which the Doctor teaches one of the local children how to play chess and actor Neve McIntosh makes a decent attempt. Ironically, now that a Scottish person’s finally reading one of these audio books, Amy’s not on board but McIntosh is still the perfect choice given the locale, approaching the reading like a cool babysitter recalling a bedtime or even some old folk story, her gentle voice gaining just the right level of urgency when necessary and still sounding nothing like the various Silurians she’s played in the television series.

All in all, really good value. In the acknowledgements Colgan thanks fellow novelist Naomi Alderman (who recently had her own Who published) and Caitlin Moran (who should). With Stephen Baxter having a past Doctor novel published later in the year, there’s now a genuine sense that writing for this corner of the franchise is as much of an honour as for the television series and there are hints that the anniversary year will bring announcements of even more surprising signings. If they produces work as entertaining as Jenny Colgan’s that’s all to the good. Now I’m off to reacquaint myself with chess. Not that I was ever really very good at it.

Links In this Olympic gap, here are some things somewhat about the Olympics:

Weightlifter Zoe Smith's written a heartfelt blog post about her Olympics experience. And after.
"I did try not to abuse my accreditation during the Games. When I forgot my Oyster card, I paid for a ticket rather than using the “I forgot my Oyster card and need to be back in the village ASAP, please let me through the gate” sob story. I waited in queues rather than attempting to flash my pass for speedy service. I didn’t ask for any discounts or anything for free. I’m not asking for a round of applause, as that’s what I should do anyway, but I know that a lot of people did try and wrangle some free stuff. However, a lot of people did choose to treat us like Gods anyway. We were VIP in quite a few big clubs, and free drinks were constantly thrown our way. Not literally thrown, that’d be dangerous, but you catch my drift."

The last word on NBC's Olympics coverage. It was worse than we thought.
"Hang on. When you start to think about the totality of NBC's Olympics coverage – the number of venues, the number of cameras, the army of producers and anchors and staff – the criticism begins to seem borderline unhinged. Disturbed. What civilization could have produced media consumers so petulant and ravenous that gorging on brilliantly filmed HD sports for two weeks only finds them spluttering and howling for better, for more?"

How to copy what Mutya, Keisha and Siobhan wore to the opening ceremony.
"They’re no longer called the Sugababes as that title is now owned by the girls who came into the band later on – Jade Ewen, Heidi Range and Amelle Berrabah. But the originals definitely still look as stunning as ever. In fact, I think they look even better than when they first started out 14 years ago. In their bright oufits, they totally fitted in with the upbeat and jubilant atmosphere in the Olympics Stadium at the opening party for the London 2012 games. Here’s how to get that casual but very, very cute look:"

Sport Fittingly, due to the interminable anticlimactic closing ceremony overrunning, BBC One’s first non-news, non-sport programme in sixteen days was The Sky at Night. Having spent over two weeks cheering on and sharing tears with the kinds of people I’d never have been friends with at school, here was twenty minutes with exactly my peer group. The general agreement online was that this surreal selection, with its forty-year-old archive footage of Patrick Moore visiting a backyard observatory and contemporary shots of three blokes in striped shirts pouring over celestial observations was somehow the perfect choice, so BBC, so British and far better than the scheduled programme, a repeat of Live at the Apollo.

For most of us, this has been an Olympics on television, perhaps me more than most. For sixteen days I sat for most of my waking hours with my eyes transfixed on two screens, the large HD rectangle showing the championship and this computer following events on the BBC’s live blog and via Twitter. Somehow I contrived to watch all but two of the British gold medals won live and only because those two, Tim Baillie and Etienne Stott in the canoe double and Luke Campbell the boxing bantamweight because they clashed with gold hopes elsewhere and I couldn’t watch both. I still made sure I was there for the medal ceremonies though, balling allowed the national anthem once again to make up for it.

I hadn’t meant to spend the period like this, and on a couple of days, like “super Saturday” (when TeamGB won six golds) it was out of necessity, but the process of following the channels, keeping an eye out for potential winners fed into my obsessive gene just as the excitement of watching a British athlete fulfil their dream, screaming their name, roaring, heart pumping, applauding became an addiction, just as seeing those hopes dashed added to the emotional ebb and flow. When Team GB failed to win any medals last Wednesday, I had a genuinely listless day, not entirely sure what to do with myself. As with all vicarious obsessions and addictions, the televised version of these games took me over.

My favourite wins were when the athlete was entirely surprised they’d one, the natural expectation of failure as though they hadn’t noticed their own achievement over the previous however long it was, some sports requiring minutes of concentrated activity, others sheer days. The wide eyes and open mouths we saw so many times from so many athletes after having needed to be told either by an electronic scoreboard or a team mate that yes, they had won and even broken a record. But sometimes it wasn’t about medals, it was just about doing better than ever. Getting to a semi-final, beating a personal best or as was the case of Handball, just the winning of a set and making Olympic history.

Olympic history was talked about a lot. Over and time again we were reminded that this was the first medal one in whatever sport for the first time in decades or even in some cases a century. This was also the most medals won across the board by the British team since 1908, since the first modern Olympics but that was a very different championship, with far fewer countries participating and just British athletes participating in some sports it hardly counts. I don’t remember the track successes of the eighties and due to time differences and work patterns missed most of anything else somehow. This was the first time I can definitely say I’ve seen I've seen games history.

Perhaps hanging on to Team GB’s successes could be seen as jingoistic, even to the point of cheering on swimmers as they fight their own battles not to finish races in last place rather than watching the Phelpsian achievement at the front, but with so much sport available even just across the four Freeview channels I had access to, it was a way of applying a narrative as this hyperlink drama unfolding across those two weeks. Presumably some people will have spent their fortnight just watching their favourite sport at the expense of everything else, the tennis, the handball, the football even. But being intensely interested in everything, I couldn’t do that. So I found myself making value judgements between equestrian and BMX, rowing and swimming, about what I'd really like to watch.

For a few days it felt like Britain, or rather Britain’s understanding of the sporting landscape had shifted on its access, best illustrated on Super Saturday when after showing the three Gold medals won on the athletics track, the BBC’s coverage, ironically front by Gary Linekar who’s been markedly on the back foot for much of his tenure in prime time, cut to the men’s football team who’s very existence was the subject of so much media scrutiny beforehand lost to South Korea during a penalty shootout. For a few brief moments it was as though the Olympic narrative had gained sentience as was telling the viewer, “You’re backing the wrong team” or as was the case, the wrong sport, our so called national game made to look predictably foolish.

Or more specifically the national game as played by its more prominent proponents. Women’s football, despite reaching roughly the same point of success in their competition gained more publicity than it ever has, more spectators, and they utilised it to show that their favourite game could be played with skill, excitement, passion but also humanity and a sense of teamspersonship missing from the male counterpart. More than once I heard and saw people wonder why women’s football didn’t have the same following, why they didn’t watch it and I felt myself agreeing wanting to watch a game for which I’ve had such enmity all these years. When they ultimately did lose to Canada, their manager, Hope Powell cried. They all did. It meant something.

Sadly we all know there hasn’t necessarily been a sea change. Some kids in the park this morning were attempting to play handball, a sport which has been given lashings of prime time coverage but quickly returned to playing cricket pretty quickly instead. The national mindset, led by the media, is too rigid to abandon its long held tribes and habits to make way for cheering on hockey teams or obsess over basketball statistics. While some of us might wish that the choice of national game will become more democratic, egalitarian, people will still prefer men with balls running or walking around fields of various sizes over women balletically throwing similar balls around even if in some cases it requires just as much skill if not more so.

And as the burners which made up the Olympic flame were extinguished, well, reader, I cried. I cried a lot yesterday, through endless slow motion montages of the events of the previous two weeks, through Eddie Butler’s poetic narration encapsulating the mood of what we’ve witness, through the various presenters and commentators who’ve introduced us to these sports thanking us for watching and the privilege of taking part. If the mess of a closing ceremony, despite the best efforts of Eric Idle, did reintroduce in some of us the cynicism we’ve lacked over the past few weeks, it’s a mark of its achievement that some of us are also still talking about it and hopefully will do still in a couple of weeks when the Paralympics begin.